


Just Another Hunt

by Crumbles_Of_Reality (orphan_account)



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Cute, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Father John Winchester, Fluff, Fluffy, Funny, M/M, Multiple chapters, Other, Plot, Plotty, Sabriel - Freeform, Teen Castiel (A couple thousand years old I guess), Teen Dean Winchester, Teen Gabriel Novak, Teen Sam Winchester, possible angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:12:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5636896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Crumbles_Of_Reality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam go to school for one week, and hunt the next. The usual. But Dean notices a strange blue eyed ghost. John soon moves them out of the place. But it's just another hunt.<br/>Dean nearly forgets about this ghost, until it tracks him. He decides he'll get rid of it himself. But it's just another hunt.<br/>Dean talks to this ghost, and hey... maybe it isn't a ghost anymore... but it's just another hunt.</p><p>He stutters, and blushes, and keeps his head down while talking to this strange boy. Is this really just another hunt?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flushed Out

Dean fidgeted in the seat of the Impala, playing with the golden pendant slung around his neck. That helped calm him down. His backpack was tattered and worn, and his outfit was probably the only one he would ever wear. 

At least it was comfortable. 

The gorgeous car rumbled to a stop in front of the steep steps to his newest school, Broadville High. Great, it sounded as sucky as it looked. Sammy was in the backseat, smoothing back his lively hair and grinning.

“What are you so happy about, you weirdo?” Dean joked, and he looked at Dean and rolled his eyes in dismissal of his insult. 

“Well, I read that-”

“Alright, alright, you had me asleep at read.” Dean moaned, and opened up the car door. Dad stayed silent, and drove off as soon as they were out, barely allowing Sam’s scuffed shoes to exit the door before pulling away and roaring down the drop off. 

_Quite a scene, I’ll have to admit._ Dean fumbled with the keys to the motel that Dad had given him, looking at them forlornly. _I mean, wouldn’t anyone, when it’s apparently called ‘Hotel Fux?” Real assuring._

Dean stuffed them into his pocket and looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of something or someone unique in a crowd of dull, normal people. But he was cut off of his search when the first bell rang, and the milling people rushed to get into the school, stampeding through the doors with books and duffel bags and nearly knocking Sam over.

“Hey!” Dean yelled gruffly, but his voice barely carried to the person in front of him before fading in the rush of the morning. He grimaced. This was going to be a long day. 

Dean checked his schedule and noticed that his first two periods were occupied by maths, followed by gym, language arts, lunch, break, science, drama, French, and social studies. _Lovely. Gag me._

Dean looked over to Sam, who seemed much more pleased with his plan of the day than Dean did. He assumed Sam had something good, but knowing him, his schedule could have been occupied by maths only and he would have cheered. Dean stopped in front of his locker and inputted the code, groaning at his first attempt, and failure. His second go was a success, and he packed away the ratty thing he liked to call a backpack and took out his books. They piled up to his chin, and he was barely able to carry the heavy load, but not because of its weight rather than its sheer height and perimeter. 

Dean nodded to Sam, who gleefully went in search of his homeroom, and then Dean scanned the thinning crowds to find his room number for homeroom. 156. By the time he had found it, the halls were nearly completely empty, and he stumbled into the full room of teenagers just as the late bell rang.  
All eyes were on him, and he cleared his throat and headed to the back of the room, taking a seat next to a boy who seemed to be overly occupied with his laptop, which blared images of a nerdy game. Sammy would love that.

Dean glanced around the room. Most of the boys had gone back to whatever they were doing, but some of the girls were looking his way. Dean was gagging on the inside, but he winked at them, and they all giggled and turned away to gossip. They reminded him of vultures. He knew he would just be another carcass to feed off of, then they would move on and leave the remains on the side of the road, ragged and ruined. Dean didn’t want that, so he averted his gaze to look around the room for some candidates for a nice make out if he wanted one. Dean sighed a little, realizing how much he thought like the ‘vultures’ he had just been criticizing. His gaze moved across the room, and he found no one of interest, boy or girl. Hey, Dean didn’t judge, nor did he care. If they were hot, they were hot.  
He slipped his hand into his pocket, grasping his phone and pulling out the earbuds he had stashed in there. He silently pressed the Play button on the device, knowing that he already had his playlist set up. Dean plugged them in under his jacket and smiled as the melodies filled up his thoughts with their lyrics.  
  


  
_My son was born just the other day.._  
_Came to the world in the usual way.._  
_But there were planes to catch_  
_and bills to pay.._  
_He learned to walk_  
_while I was away_  
_And he was talking ‘fore I knew it_  
_and as he grew_  
_he said_  
_“I’m gonna be like you, dad._  
_You know I’m gonna be like you..”_  


  
Dean hummed along to the song until the boy sitting next to him gave him a dirty look. Dean glared at him but stopped, and soon enough the bell rang. He paused the flow of music to get to his first class. The feeling of dread of learning settled in, and Dean sighed in annoyance that he was going to have to sit through all this crap. 

_________________________________

Dean slid the flimsy styrofoam tray across the table, and while it was piled with different food, it didn’t look appetizing. Really, it looked the opposite. He had already tried to take a bite of his pizza, but had ended up gagging. He was currently sitting at a free table across the room from the exit door, nearest the window, in case something happened, he could see everything. The thought calmed his jittery, stressed out nerves. 

He gave up on the idea of good food, deciding he would just eat when he got to the motel. He walked to the trash can and emptied his tray into it, and then finally dropped the tray on top. Dean was heading back to his table when felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He turned around, and saw a boy dressed formally, with striking blue eyes and brown _almost_ curly hair, standing outside the window in the vacant parking lot of the school. Dean looked to check if his table was still unoccupied and then back again, but the boy had vanished. Dean's eyes narrowed, but he pushed it to the back of his mind, and soon thought nothing of it.

_________________________________

In the middle of Drama class, while Dean was pretending to pass out for a test of skill, he was called to the office. Dean groaned, and realized that he had been enjoying the class. But he didn’t complain, and headed to where he thought he remembered the office was.

Once Dean got there, he saw Sam staring at the wall, sitting on a chair peacefully, almost sedatedly. He looked to the receptionist, who snapped out of her filing and looked up to Dean. 

“Dean Winchester?” She asked snidely, her voice sounding nasally and bothersome. Dean nodded.  
“Your brother.. got into a fight. He doesn’t really seem to be in the real world at the moment.” She said, hinting on something he couldn’t quite catch.

“I am ever so sorry, but as you are listed as his guardian, you are going to have to take him home.” She finished. Dean stared incredulously at her, finally nodding once more.

“O-Okay..” Dean stuttered, a little out of words for what he was hearing. Sammy? In a _fight_? Not his Sam, no way. Dean looked at him, but sure enough, he was already forming some bruises. The heavy weight of keys in Dean's jacket pocket reminded him of his task, so he nodded curtly to the receptionist and took Sam’s arm, dragging him out of the office and out through the main door. 

“Sam, what the hell, man!?” Dean yelled at him, snapping his fingers in front of Sam. He seemed a little woozy, and Dean started to wonder what could have done this to him.

“Uh. Uh, Dean? Um, this kid, he- he invited me to sit at his table at lunch for today and he-” Sam looked around, forgetting what he was saying, and seemed to blank out. 

“Sam!? What did he do?” Dean nudged him as they strode along to the way to the motel. 

“He bought me a- a milkshake and then gave it t-to me ‘nd I drank it but feltt weird after that..” He laughed absentmindedly, and Dean shook his head in amusement.

“Sammy, man, you’re stoned. That guy gave you roofies or something in your drink. And on your first day, too. Hah man, shoulda seen it coming. What was his name?” Dean laughed, and Sam looked at Dean with a dark expression on his face. He immediately snapped to attention. _Did he do anything else?_

“Sumthin’ with a C... And Don’t call me Sammy. It’s Sam!” He protested, and Dean relaxed a little, allowing himself a light chuckle. 

_________________________________

Dean sat on the bed of the motel, and Sam was next to him, snoring peacefully. He had made him go to sleep to get rid of his high. Dad didn’t need to see that, not that he would be around all the time to notice. Dean estimated he’d be back in three days once he had figured the thing out and needed something to kick ass. His favorite gun had a special ivory hilt. Dean liked to imagine that someday when he was gone and out of the business, he would give it to him. It was a real pretty gun. 

Baby was outside, parked professionally in between the lines, shining in the sun. Dad would always leave her there when he was on a hunt, so that Dean and Sam could get where they needed to be. It was a real treat to ride her, and boy, Dad would have his head if he ever damaged her. 

Dean refocused himself on the sleeping figure beside him, and smiled sadly at him, thinking of days when there could be a whole family. When Mom could be alive again. When there were no nightmares, when there were no tears or knowledge of any of this- this SHIT! It was just so overwhelming, and Dean didn’t want to have to go through it anymore. But he ignored the empty, upset feeling in the pit of his stomach and looked around the motel, exploring it with sight. 

The beds were old and worn, yet still had a nice sort of vintage look to them. The sheets were obviously new, and he guessed were probably replaced every month or so. The walls were a rusty browned color, homey and earthy and just plainly plain. Dean sighed, averting his gaze to outside the window. 

Something tan caught his eye, and Dean noticed that boy again, staring at him with a determined precision. He was wearing a rather bulky costume consisting of a tuxedo and trenchcoat. A tan trenchcoat. His blue eyes seemed to read Dean's. Dean blinked, and the boy was gone. 

Something about the encounter made Dean uneasy… maybe he was a ghost!? If so, then Dean knew how to take care of that. He’d- he’d catch him next time, he wouldn’t blink, and he’d figure out who he was, and what. _I mean, of course, I knew what it was. A ghost. Of course._ But something about it made Dean uneasy. It almost felt as if he had never encountered something like it before. 

Dean shrugged it off as Sam stirred, drowsily awakening from his nap. He mumbled something inaudible to himself and rubbed his eyes, bringing his arms out to a wide, open stretch as he woke up. After a few seconds of staring blearily at the wall, he got up out of the covers and went to the bathroom. Dean could hear him throwing up and puking, and he shivered in disgust. Poor Sammy, must suck. Thank god Dean was usually too smart for that sort of thing. Sam may have brains, but only for some things. Dean was the street smart one. 

He came out of the bathroom hesitantly, seemingly embarrassed to have puked in the same room as Dean. But Dean just clapped him on the back reassuringly and said,  
“Relax, Sammy! I don’t give a little crap about how much you puke after you get drugged!” and jokingly walked upright to the fridge, before un-tensing his shoulders and grabbing a beer from the small metal container that was barely below room temperature. Dean began sipping it thoughtfully, while Sam gave him a look of bewilderment.

“How do you drink that stuff?” He said in disgust. Dean just chuckled and shook his head. Sam would understand when he got older. Dean even noticed sometimes that Sam was already starting to develop a taste for it, like the times when Dad allowed him to have a half-portion of a bottle of beer on a really successful hunt. He’d grimace, but hey, Dean did too on his first few. 

Dean slugged the rest of it down after a while and turned on the television. Gaudy colors and music blared from the old device, and he groaned, immediately switching the channels. Finally, after much struggling and decision making, he managed to find a “Porn Hub” channel. Dean grinned at Sam, who blocked his ears in disgust and turned away, putting in headphones and clicking them into his crappy second hand phone. Dean laughed and turned it up ever louder, but eventually became serious and turned the volume to a reasonable decibel. His eyes grazed over the near-nude bodies hungrily, but for some reason, he felt no attraction or arousement from them. He groaned, shutting off the television right before their Dad came into the room, staggering under the weight of a long white sheet.. presumably harboring a body inside it. Dean stood up bolt upright, the alcohol having no effect on him. 

“Was is a vamp, like you ‘spected? Or something worse?” Dean inquired, shifting the bottle under the motel bed, out of sight. 

“Just a vamp. You two boys’ll be alright here for another, say, four days right? I gotta go flush out a nest, but they’re just newbies, so it shouldn’t be too hard. You too ain’t coming, though. Gotta get some smarts up in those noggins of yours!” He winked, but his eyes didn’t smile like they used to. 

Dean nodded, and Dad gave him a slap on the back and ruffled his hair. 

“And the body, Sir?” Dean asked grimly, looking at it in disgust as if it were already stinking up the room. Sam, on the other hand, was backing up against the wall, as far away from it as he could, pressing his back onto the edge of the head of the bed. Dean smirked at him while Dad was looking at the fridge, and he scowled, and returned his wide eyes to the figure lying stiffly on the floor. Of course, laying might not have been too accurate for a dead body, but it would have to do.  
“You know what to do..” Dad said, looking at Dean with meaning. He nodded briskly, and walked over to where the heavy body lay. Dean dragged it to one side of the room, out of sight from the window and the passerbies… not that there were any, but nonetheless, it was a precaution they had to take. Sam looked on, almost saddened by how casually Dean was doing this, as if he had been doing it all his life. Well.. 

While he was searching the floorboards to avoid Sam’s disappointed gaze, he heard a lock click shut and the door slam. Dad was gone, off to flush and kill the nest. He’d get to go next time, he knew, but he really wished he could have been anywhere but here, with a judgmental, pissed off, hungover Sam. 

“Dean..” Sam began, but Dean looked at him with a gaze that he knew meant _Shut up, I don’t wanna hear it, man._ Sam huffed and collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before standing up and walking towards the door. 

“Sam, where the hell do you think you’re going?” Dean said, speeding in front of him and slamming himself against the door before Sam had reached it. 

“Dean, relax. I’m going to see if there is anything remotely interesting to do in this place.” Dean hesitated, almost letting him go, but grabbed his leather jacket instead. 

“Not without me you ain’t!” Dean grinned at him, and Sam sighed in defeat, knowing he’d never win an argument about this. 

They headed out together to find a place to hang out. _Now, repeat this for five days and we’ll be out of here!_  
Dean almost forgot about the blue eyed ghost.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some work on the case, but no chats to Castiel yet! Also, some lovely plotty plot plot!!
> 
> Who is that mysterious guy who guides them around the school though? Oh, it's Gabriel!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got another one up! ;) (I worked my booty off on this, if you read it and like it, please give it a Kudos. You really don't understand how much joy it brings me.)

“Come on, Dean, come _on!_ ” Sam yelled, and they pushed their way through the front doors of the school, right after the bell rung, both of them hearing the tolling grumble of the Impala outside, laying in an idle standby peacefully in the front of the school. They both rushed to the car, which seemed a bit more scrappy and dusty than usual. 

“Dean, up front. I want to talk to you on the ride to the new hunt.” Dad said, and pointed complacently to the seat beside him. 

“Right. Get in Sammy. Hurry up!” Dean mumbled, more to himself than to Sam, and proceeded to scramble into the car himself, nearly hitting his head on a jagged piece of metal on the side of the car. It barely scraped his scalp, but he found it burnt like hell. He rubbed his head and looked at the little piece of metal, pulling it off the car in confusion. It turned out to be a wire attached to some sort of… pack? 

“Dean! Get rid of that! NOW!” His father bellowed, and Dean flinched and tossed the little sack in front of the Impala. He looked at his dad skeptically, wondering what the object could have been. From what he had seen, it was covered in strange sorts of hexes, possibly a different language altogether. 

“Sorry, sorry, but that was a hex bag, Dean, a _hex bag_! What was it doing here?” He looked at us worriedly, and sighed. 

“It was witchcraft,” Dad began to explain, and he tilted forward in his seat, trying to catch another glimpse at the small bag that was now lying in the street in front of them, “and it could have killed us all. Someone.. some _thing_ is after us. Let’s blow this hell-hole.” He spoke grimly, as if every word was costing them another vital second to safety. Dean noticed a few stragglers still in the “lobby” of the school looking at the family with confusion, some in disgust. He supposed the whole ordeal must have seemed a bit weird. 

The Impala was kicked out of idle and snaked down the road, leaving behind a little _crunch_ as they deliberately road over the small bag. Dean didn’t ask questions. He’d read about it in Dad’s journal later.

_________________________________

But just later had turned out to be in a slightly more dignifiedly named hotel, Seashore Resort. They were, in fact, near the ocean, but Dean highly doubted that there would be any time to go anywhere. Dad had informed them we would be working this case with him. At least there would also be no school, there was always that bonus. 

Dean was packing for a trip to the victim- who had choked on about twenty needles and had their heart ripped clean out of their chest- ‘s home. Dad was muttering something about witchcraft, but Dean found that the case sounded like some strange sort of werewolf case. _Maybe they had done the needles after the person was killed?_

“Dean, you’ll come in with me to question the relatives. Sam’ll stay in the car, but I think you’re old enough to pass for a lucky young Fed, don’tcha think?” His dad suddenly spoke up, and Dean nodded. He went to the hotel bathroom to get changed into the tightly fitting tuxedo, finally attempting to put on his tie. He made sure it was suitably tight, and checked out how he looked in the bathroom mirror. 

Fairly decent, and reasonably snooty. That was good, great even. Feds, in his mind, were definitely know-it-all-like and rude looking. 

He walked out of the bathroom with his head held high, playing the part, and Sam coughed strangely. Dean’s attention snapped to him, and he saw Sam trying to stifle laughter. Thankfully, Dad didn’t notice, and they got out of the hotel faster than normal. _Were we hurrying? Why?_

As soon as they came to the parking lot, his dad began scouring the car, looking it over quickly and thoroughly, making sure every _crevice_ was checked over. Dean realized he was looking for more hex bags, and shuddered at the thought of what the one he’d found could have done to us if he hadn’t clumsily hit his head on it. 

Dean didn’t know much about them, but from the way his dad was acting, they were seriously bad mojo, or even overpowering. Apparently something they needed to take great caution of.   
The car rumbled to wakening, and they all hopped in, somehow slamming the car doors in synchronization. They sat silently as the car swerved into the highway, and then they were rolling. 

Dean tapped idly on his knee while they drove, waiting for his dad to share the plan. Sure enough, within the first five minutes of driving, his father cleared his throat. 

“Dean, here’s what I’m thinking: A witch, possibly needing to complete a ritual using a human heart?” He looked to Dean for his opinion, and Dean stared at him for a moment before realizing that he was actually being asked something by his father, and not just being told. 

“Oh! Um, well, I was thinking a werewolf.. maybe they stuck the needles in the neck to make it _look_ like witchraft?” Dean suggested, but his father ignored this comment. Apparently the question was rhetorical.. 

They drove on, stopping once for a gas break. While baby was getting filled up, Dean went to go grab some snacks. 

“Something Non-GMO!” Sam called after him, and Dean turned around to scoff, but his father stared back at him. Dean looked away, and trudged to the Gas-N-Sip.. crappy name. 

He walked into the store, the little bells ringing, marking his entrance to the moderately well kept store in a light, cheery way. Dean’s eyes immediately snapped to the section of baked goods. _Pie, pie, pie.. Pie?_ He skimmed through the cookies and brownies, finally finding his section. _Pie!_ What a lovely discovery. Dean searched through pecan, blueberry, strawberry, cherry, _apple_. There it was. In all its glory, juicy and crumbly and probably not too healthy. Dean instantly grabbed it and cradled it into the nook of his ribs, going about to what looked like the all-natural section of the place. An overwhelming- or rather underwhelming- scent of fruits and vegetables was smothered around here, and Dean was sure someone had gone a bit crazy with the daisy Febreze. 

Grabbing what looked like some sort of turkey-chicken-lettuce wrap, Dean headed over to the beverages section. There was an abundance of energy drinks, but Dean found them foul, and also plenty of water. He grabbed some of that, 3 bottles, and then 2 cases of beer. The finer whiskey and vodka wouldn’t be put to good use, so Dean pushed away the thought and piled the food and drinks onto the counter. He saw a few packs of trail mix and jerky, and decided that a few extra snacks couldn’t hurt, throwing them in, too. 

The cashier looked at Dean skeptically, as if trying to gauge his age. Dean sighed and pulled out his I.D. Lucas Meddler, age 21. That was his backup card, just in case someone actually questioned him. The cashier simply glanced at it before scanning his items.

_________________________________

“What took you so long?” Their father grumbled, and pulled out of the Gas’N’Sip and into the highway. 

“I had to show them my I.D, Sir.” I muttered, and opened up the small white plastic bag, handing Sam back his thing.. ‘wrap.’ Sam immediately searched the back of the small black crappy box, looking for ingredients and stuff.. whatever was there, Dean supposed. Sam’s eyes widened a little, and his lip curled slightly. Dean laughed, knowing that Sam must have found some not completely organic ingredient in there.

“..corn syrup….” Sam said to himself, and Dean snorted a little bit longer before turning back to his pie. He pulled it out of the bag with flourish, looking hungrily at the baked treat. He was about to take a huge bite out of it when his father cleared his throat. 

“So, Dean,” He began, and his attention snapped to his father. “I was thinking, we talk to this witness, ask what they’ve seen, and go from there, got it?” This wasn’t a question, it wasn’t negotiable. Dean nodded, agreeing with the plan. 

“Yeah, got it.” Dean mumbled, and looked at his pie forlornly, not sure whether he was allowed to eat it anymore.

_________________________________

He trudged up to the victim’s home with his father by his side, a grimace that could have been mistaken for a smile plastered on his face. He fiddled with his tie, which was cutting into his throat every time he breathed in deeply. It was a deep blue, which was strange, because Dean didn’t remember buying a blue one, but he liked the look of it. He loosened it a little, and was able to breath. 

But now it was backwards, and Dean didn’t know how that happened. Oh well, he could say he tried.

Dean’s dad’s arm stretched forward to knock on the door, but it had been whipped open before his hand had even reached the handle. A bedraggled looking lady opened the door, her hair frazzled, her eyes wide and fearful. 

“Who are you?” She gasped breathlessly at them. Dean almost choked on the musk and dusty scent that wafted from the lady’s home, but he simply smiled reassuringly at her as his father answered her frantic questions. Soon Dean and his father were led into her home. 

The scent only grew stronger as his father asked the routine questions. “..smell anything? Sulfur? Hear anything strange…?” And so on. Newspapers dating back to the day of the incident littered her living room, and Dean wrinkled his nose so harshly he was surprised the lady bore him no glance. 

While asking more “normal” questions, Dean felt a nudge in his side. It was obvious his father’s intentions; he was to search around for hex bags, and Dean heeded his will. He cleared his throat.

“Ehem, uh, miss? Where are the bathrooms?” She gazed away from his father and to Dean, her eyes clouded with tears. 

“Oh, oh, um, down the hall to the left.” Dean nodded to her, and stood up stiffly, almost feeling the dust roll off him cleanly. He brushed off his pants and strode down the hall, sighing in relief to be away from that nutjob. He routinely scraped his hands hesitantly down the sides of the table and chairs when he came to the kitchen, and almost gagged when he felt something sticky that was guaranteed to be not-hexbag-ish. 

“Eugh...gross.” He pulled his hand away, shivering, and continued to look for evidence that it may be a witch… or as he believed, a clever werewolf. He checked the shattered windows for tufts of fur, and did manage to find some, but it turned out that the fur was attached to a fluffy grey cat, who yowled in displeasure and hissed and him. Dean flinched, and pulled away, deciding to move instead to the bathroom, where the victim had been found.

A sour smell erupted from the room, and the browning stains of blood that littered the floor made Dean sick to his stomach. Holding down his pie, he searched between the shower curtain rods, under the sink, in the medicine cabinet -which seemed way too full of “medicine” for any normal person-, and behind the toilet. Finally, Dean was done, and he burst out of the room, shaking his head at his father, who was sitting on the couch facing the hallway. His dad cleared his throat, and announced that,

“That will be all, thankyou,” interrupting the gabbing lady’s chatter about what Dean heard may have been related to cats. She seemed to have settled herself down quite nicely, and was bundled in a tight ball on the couch opposite his father. 

They left the house in a hurry, gulping in fresh mouthfuls of fresh air. What a relief. Dean conveyed the news to his father, who nodded and frowned. 

“I’m gonna get you boys to your newest school. F’get the name, sorry. I’ll drop you off now, and you’ll get to see it for the last period. This case is a big’un.

_________________________________

Dean and Sam walked into the school, which was eerily quiet apart from the chatter drifting from the few open doors in the classrooms. A loudspeaker crackled to life, calling out a name:   
**”Gabriel Novak, please report to the Main Office. Gabriel Novak.”**  
The voice popped out with a ring, and a cheery, dusty blonde headed boy raced out the nearest classroom, nearly bumping into Sam. He skidded to a halt, a lollipop hanging out the corner of his mouth. A sickly scent of sweets hung around him, and his eyes crinkled in happiness at the sight of them. 

“You’re the new kids! Oh, this is great! _Brothers_... hmmm… ha! Hiya, I’m Gabe, you can call me Gabe- wait.. um, yeah, and I’ll be your guide! _Only did it to get out of Ms.Jusyg’s class, she’s a real bat!” He winked, and Dean and Sam were left gobsmacked at the cheerful boy, as he nearly skipped down the hall in excitement, stopping only when he noticed the brothers weren’t following. Dean nudged Sam, and together they followed slowly._

_As they passed by the windows in a glass hallway halfway through the “tour” Dean caught a glimpse of a blue on tan shape flitting in the corner of his eye. He turned his head to stare out the window, but saw nothing peculiar, cherry blossoms falling from the dying trees as squirrels hopped about back and forth between the tightly packed trees._

_He turned his head back to where he was walking, and found they were about to enter a band room, stocked full of students. The door creaked loudly as they entered, and somehow, the entire room full of at least forty-something kids turned their heads and gazed at them._

_“Gabe! These must be the newbies!” A young girl squealed. She looked about Sam’s age, and had blonde hair and blue eyes. Her smile seemed to trigger others, and soon the whole band room was tossing greetings in their direction, pushing and shoving at eachother playfully._

_The girl extended her hand, without hesitation or worry of rejection. She might have been Dean’s type some other time, but it looked like Sam would get along with her, and so he let Sam shake her hand. She cooed at him, asking all sorts of questions about his schedule and if he knew how to play an instrument. _Poor Sammy’s meetin’ his first girl_.. Dean thought happily to himself, almost letting out a light chuckle. He turned, and Gabriel was grinning at him. _

_“I thought I’d save the best for halfway, because what if we didn’t have time for this at the end?” He said. _I like his logic._ Dean decided, and smiled and nodded at him._

 ___________________________________

 _“Man, that was exhausting. Didn’t think a chick could talk _that_ much, ey Sammy?” Dean chuckled, and Sam snorted and shook his head in bewilderment. They began to walk towards the parking lot before Dean noticed a strange boy lurking in the shadows of a particularly tall cherry blossom tree. Dean put an arm in front of Sam, stopping him from walking any further. He tilted his head back to the tree slightly and glanced there and back quickly, Sam following. _

_“Just keep walking. What about that GIRL in MATHS, huh SAM?” Dean emphasized his words so that his voice would carry to the boy._

_He heard a small, devious chuckle, and the boy began to trudge towards them._

_“Don’t pretend like you can’t see me, boys.” He said boldly, but he was really quite a scrawny guy. He didn’t seem to have any muscles, but something about his demeanor and behaviour was off-putting._

_“And you are?” Dean glared at him, slightly rudely, but this guy was a creep._

_“The name’s Crowley. And you are?” He mocked, but Dean could see he wanted to know._

_“We’re trouble.”_

_“Sam and Dean.”_

_The brothers shot eachother furious looks. Dean pulled Sam away by the rim of his shirt, walking towards the Impala with determination to ignore this guy’s… _Crowley’s_ ramblings. _

_“I’ll be seeing you soon, _Dean._ ”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See! So plotty plot plot!


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's this? A new character? Maybe in this story, but in Supernatural Cassie is quite at home! :D 
> 
> Please give a Kudos if you liked, I worked really hard on this chapter and managed to finish it in just 2 days!

Dean had nearly growled at Crowley for that comment, what an ass. But he kept his his forward and wheeling Sam into the passenger seat of the Impala, shoving him down into a sitting position, his arms aching with how tense he was holding them.

“Dean, ow, what the hell?!” Sam groaned, but Dean ignored his whining and just slammed the door, climbing in the driver’s seat as elegantly as he could while fuming. Though he made sure he didn’t break or harm the precious Impala, or, ‘Baby’, as he liked to call it, you could hear the slam reverberating throughout the parking lot. Sam was wincing in the car, rubbing his arm tenderly.

“That guy is no good. Didn’t you get that weird feeling around him? No good, Sammy,” Dean muttered. 

“It’s _Sam_.” Sam groused, ignoring Dean’s comment out of pure annoyance rather than naivety. 

“And besides, we gotta get home in case Dad is worried.” Dean added, and Sam snorted in disbelief, glancing at him as if to say, _You don’t really believe that, do you?_ and turning back to face the street. The school was right next to a busy road, but a small busy road at that, and they turned smoothly out of the parking lot and head towards the hotel.

_________________________________

Baby rumbled to a stop in the lot of the Seashore Resort, and Dean climbed out of the Impala. He placed a hand on her hood and sighed, gazing out towards the sea that seemed to stretch out for miles and miles. Dean’s breath hitched in his throat, vaguely remembering a time when his father had taken him and Sammy to the beach, back while he was still grieving at their mother’s loss. The wind had been billowing through the rough sea grasses, and the waves too wild to be played in. They crashed about the shore and the sea foam curled in the air, fizzling away as if it had never even been there.

It had been a sunny day, but the mood there was not as bright as to be expected. His father had seemed to be coated with ice that day, and no matter how Dean had cried and whined for icecream, his father had simply ignored him, gazing out to sea, and sometimes he would mutter phrases to himself, or simply speak to himself. A tear had slipped from his eye, which had confused Dean at the time. He remembered his own tiny, high-pitched voice, eventually asking, “Daddy, wouldn’t Mommy like to have been at the beach? Where is she?” and Dean’s father had snapped back at him, full of malice.

“You are _not_ to call me ‘Daddy’, or ‘Dad.’ I am _Sir_.” Dean had whimpered, tears welling up in his green eyes, and Sammy had rushed up from his sandcastle building to comfort Dean. Even then, Sam would defy his father, still calling him Dad and Father even after what Dean had told him. 

“You’re remembering that time, aren’t you?” Sam looked at him, squinting. Dean raised his head, which had apparently been lowered, and nodded at Sam.

“You remember it too?” Dean asked, almost surprised, but then again, Sam seemed to have the memory of a computer, with history dating back to the day he was born. He smiled weakly at his little brother, and then grabbed the keys from his pocket and walked into the lobby. 

He tapped the number 4 in the elevator, and they rose upwards at an alarmingly fast pace, creaking and whining the whole way. Dean stepped out of the elevator quickly as soon as the doors opened, sighing in relief. 

“Room 452, ey Sammy?” Dean asked, and Sam nodded in agreement. They arrived at their door and unlocked the room, heading into the tackily decorated room with gusto. 

“Good god, _two_ double beds? And a _couch_? Woah,” Dean exclaimed, and thought fast, jumping onto the double bed closest to the window before Sam did, shunning the younger brother onto the couch. Dean laughed in glee at the soft, springy bed and the apparently clean bedsheets. 

“Dad got us a real good’un here!” Sam shouted in joy, pressing his hand against the plush couch, seemingly deciding it wouldn’t be that bad to sleep on after all. Dean looked out the window again, at the sea, and decided this called for a celebratory beer. He crouched to the mini-fridge (that was actually refrigerating this time!!) and pulled out a couple of beers, one for Sam and one for him. He chucked it at Sam, who barely caught it, and popped his cap open with his bottle opener, Sam doing the same with the one laying on the counter. 

Dean sat facing the sea, sipping his beer contentedly, watching in awe at each and every wave, crashing down in synchrony together, slipping up and down the sand over and over again, continuously. He decided that he would definitely be going there tomorrow, if Sam was occupied and didn’t need his help. He was sure he wouldn’t, for Sam seemed overwhelmed with the over-enthusiastic Gabriel and friendly Jess. 

Dean looked back at Sam, who was tipping the head of his bottle ever so slightly to let little drops of the beer slip into his mouth bit by bit. Dean knew he was still unaccustomed to the taste, so he downed his in a couple gulps and walked over to Sam. 

“Hey Sammy?” Dean looked at Sam, sadness lingering in his voice. Sam snapped to his attention and asked, 

“Yeah Dean, what?” 

“What do you remember about Mom?” Dean asked, smiling sadly at his younger brother, who flinched at the word. 

“Not a lot, I suppose. Not a lot at all, which is surprising because you always say I’m a walking encyclopedia. Um, well, I remember her singing to me at night, and how soft and sweet her voice was. Like honey and cream, and something a little magical. But maybe that’s my imagination.” Sam sighed.

“And what songs did she sing to you? Do you remember that? Like, were you born a classic rock man, or did you prefer other things. Well, I suppose you may not re-”

“No, Dean, I do. She’d always sing this one song, I think it was one of her favorites.. I can’t remember the name of it. Something sort of classic rock-ish. _Lay your weary head to rest… don’t you cry no moree.._ ” Sam hummed to himself more than to Dean, but a little lump formed in his chest nonetheless. 

“That’s Carry On My Wayward Son. Ha, fits, I guess.” Dean gave a dry chuckle, not really amused, but wanting to lighten the mood. Of course Mom would sing that. It was one of Dean’s favorite songs too. Dean did vaguely remember his mother’s sweet voice carrying around the house when she sang that, and then she’d come into Dean’s room next and kiss him on the forehead, and wish him goodnight. 

_The angels are watching over you, Dean._ She’d always mutter, and tuck him in tight. Dean had believed that for a while, but now he knew angels weren’t real. It was just some baloney thought up by some baloney, and Dean glanced out to the sea again. He realized that little mini Dean was right, Mom definitely _would_ have loved the ocean. She must have seen it sometime, he hoped that she had. Living in Kansas wasn’t a sure fire way to see the ocean, though, so he could never be sure. 

The sun was beginning to set, a toll of the winter looming against the cozy weather of fall. The days were over faster than normal, and Dean always wanted to make the most of them, so he decided to head out and get them something to eat. He fidgeted slightly, and pulled out his wallet. It was horribly barren, a sight that brought back the memories of when he was younger and had to fend for his brother and himself. He supposed it wasn’t very different now, but Sam was more independant. 

Dean sighed, telling Sam where he was going before heading out to the nearest store, which happened to be the Gas’N’Sip. After trudging half a mile down the highway to the gas station, he entered the store silently. He walked to the porn magazine area and stood there idly for a moment, then walked to the candy section. He glanced around for any securities cameras, scoping out the blindspots, and walked over to one near a packaged goods section, and stuffed packs of whatever he could get his hands on into his jacket, making sure to act inconspicuous. But of course, he hadn’t bargained for someone to actually find him there. 

“Are you going to pay for that? It seems that most humans who pass by this store that want something make some sort of a trade.” A deep gravelly voice spoke to him, and Dean jumped, his hands freezing in his pockets. 

“I- uh-” He turned to face the man, and instantly recognized the attire. This was not a man, but the teen ghost he had seen, but apparently this scrawny guy had a deep, gravelly voice that almost unnerved Dean. 

“You! I saw you at the other highschool… how are you here, you’re a ghost… not supposed to..” Dean trailed off, confused by the boy’s stares. 

“Oh, Dean, I am not a ghost, I am an angel of the Lord.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. It was a most unemotional smile, more as if the gho- angel, had never participated in an act of that sort. 

“And you think I believe you? Yeah right. Angels don’t exist!” Dean scoffed, and walked away with his hands in his pockets, concealing how crammed full of goods they were. He walked out the store without anyone except the strange boy taking notice of him. Dean decided to run home, as the sun was about to set and Dean knew what happened when light wasn’t around to save asses. 

His legs burned after running the half mile in the cold, brisk air, and he ended up having a coughing fit in the elevator. The door clinked open to the gazing ghost boy, and Dean nearly choked on thin air. 

“How the Hell..?!” Dean muttered, and shoved past the boy, deciding he’d just ignore him and get into the hotel room to feed Sammy. But the boy grabbed his arm, his grip surprisingly strong, and his vision faded, a _whoosh-wup_ noise was heard, and then Dean and the ghost weirdo were standing on the beach outside his and Sam’s room. 

“I am an angel of the Lord, Dean.” Dean started again at his gravelly voice, and glared at him in disbelief. How dare he call himself an angel, how _dare_ he? Did he even know what they meant to him? How much he hated them? Was this some sort of joke? He snarled and pulled his arm away from the boy. 

“Is this some sort of joke? Screw you, buddy, you ain’t no angel!” Dean yelled, and began to turn away when lightning crackled overhead. The boy’s eyes changed from the same blue as the ocean to teal, and the white of his eyes were blocked out by this color. Light emanated from all openings in his face, glowing with blue white light. Dean backed away, but was transfixed at the strange sight. Thunder boomed, and at the third flash of lightning, a smell of fresh grasses wafted through the air. The lightning strike seemed to hit the boy, and as it hit him, it spread outward, taking the form of wings. Finally, the lightning sizzled away, and shadowy, feathery wings seemed to take its place. They gleamed, and at last the shadows fizzed away into true wings. Dean choked back a sob, taken aback at the pure beauty of them. 

His wings were white and fluffy at the tips of the lower feathers, but at the top they seemed to be scorched black, and long streaks of this traveled down nearly to the tips of his wings. He had two completely gold feathers on each side of his wings, and the shafts of all of his feathers were either gold or grey. Dean instantly knew the gold had some special meaning, for the boy- no, the _angel_ looked so fabulously regal that it was impossible for him to not be special. 

“Oh my go- oh, wow..” Dean gasped, tears welling in his eyes. He dropped to his knees.  
“Magnificent.. they’re.. magnificent.” 

Dean could have sworn the angel blushed, and his shoulders seemed hunched and his wings pushed closely to his torso. His tan trenchcoat billowed in the storm that was dissipating, and.. his tie. His tie was blue! Like.. like the one dean owned! 

“How did I get my tie? I knew that I didn’t buy it, but..” Dean asked. The angel looked abashed, keeping his head down slightly. 

“Oh, I.. I gave it to you! I hope you like it?” The boy smiled, and Dean felt himself weakly return the smile. His hand reached out, and he stood up straight in front of the angel. 

“What is your name? What is your interest in me?” Dean questioned the angel, feeling bitterness rise in his chest.  
“And where were you all this time?!” He growled. 

The angel looked taken aback, and somewhat hurt. Dean instantly felt guilty, and it was all he could do not to let the apologies spill out of his mouth. 

“I am Castiel, angel of Thursday. I-um, was not told about you until now, oh, I’m so sorry, Dean, I-” He choked, then his face became sullen and emotionless once more.  
“I am the angel of Thursday.” He repeated monotonically. Dean puzzled at his sudden change of emotion. Perhaps it was above angel order to feel. The bitterness that he had harbored towards the apparent “make believe” creatures was gone. Apparently they were kind. 

“Dean, would you like it if.. if I went to your new school? And was your friend?” Castiel asked, hesitantly. Dean grinned, putting Castiel’s worries at ease. 

“Yeah! I’d love it! I’d have a friend, and that’s awesome, like, woah!” Dean rambled.  
“Thanks Cas!” He grinned, and Castiel smiled too, apparently liking the nickname. 

“Yourwelcome, Dean.” He reached forward and took Dean’s arm, and then Dean’s vision went black, and he heard the still unfamiliar _whoosh-wup_ , and he was standing back in the Hotel. 

Castiel was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't Cas just adorable!? <3


End file.
